


over and over, we begin again

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route, Reading Aloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara shares their favourite book with Asriel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	over and over, we begin again

**Author's Note:**

> in case you're unaware: kitchen is a real book and some of the flavour text from the fight against rg01/rg02 in the no mercy route directly quotes from it. specifically, the "cauldron of hell/double suicide/'I couldn't stop laughing' part

Somewhere along the line, reading out loud became something of a ritual for you and Chara.

If you were to try and pin it down, you'd guess that it began when you were younger and Chara still had nightmares. Not that they don't have nightmares now, but the ones they have now are different—more subdued. The nightmares they had when they were younger were _awful._ They'd send Chara heaving back into consciousness, shuddering and sobbing and clawing at the dark, barely capable of recognizing you. 

You could never sleep when Chara was crying, even though they rarely went out of their way to wake you up. Whenever they had one of their dreams, you'd immediately get out of bed as well and go to offer comfort any way you could, and somehow, at some point, you'd offered Chara comfort in the form of reading to them. All you'd been able to think about was wanting to distract them, and reading to them was as good a distraction as any. 

Fortunately, it had worked. You remember the way Chara's trembling had ceased, eyes fixed on you as you read. You can't remember what the book had been that first time, just that you had grabbed it from their dresser and that it had been something long and thick and difficult. At some point they had even begun to laugh at you and the way you stumbled over the trickier words, but you didn't mind being laughed at—it meant they were listening to you, not dwelling on whatever memories they'd been caught up in.

At first, that was all that reading together had been; a means of keeping them distracted and afloat when something threatened to pull them under. But then Chara started coming to you more and more often, and somehow, it became routine. You and Chara curled up together in bed, or sitting underneath you favourite tree, or crammed together on the windowsill, you reading from the book they'd brought and Chara listening with a rapt expression.

Chara always chose the book, dismissing your selections as being childish or boring. They tended to gravitate towards the long and complicated, like textbooks or obscure novels, but they occasionally selected something simpler; fantasy and fairytales and mythology. You like to think that they were thinking of you when they did that. You've always loved stories about heroes.

Reading to them had always felt like something of a privilege, even though others might think that Chara was simply using you. They'd always been a private person, and for them to share a hobby like this with you felt like a sign of incredible favour. You enjoyed it an almost embarrassing amount. It was small, but it was something you could do for them, a way to repay them for their company.

Thus, the first time Chara comes to you with a book in hand after getting your bodies back, you almost jump in excitement. Literal centuries have passed for you since you last got to read to them and see that look of wonder in their eyes. You're hungrier for their attention than you know how to say; all you can do is smile at them eagerly as they plop themselves beside you on the couch.

But there's a look of determination on Chara's face today, one that can't be argued with, and instead of handing you the book, they say, "Today, _I'm_ going to read to _you."_

You blink. The possibility of a reversal had not occurred to you. 

"Are you sure?" you ask. "I mean, not that I don't want you to, but...we usually do it the other way around, don't we?"

"I can _read,_ Asriel."

"I know!" you say, raising your hands apologetically when you see their scowl. "I know, I just...I mean, if you _want_ to, then..."

"Do _you_ not want me to?" Chara demands, eyes narrowing even further.

"No! I do! I totally do!" you answer quickly, and Chara looks satisfied.

Somehow, you end up lying down with your head resting on their lap. You're not quite sure how that happens, only that Chara has a cat-like smirk on their face when you finally give in.

You can't help but feel as though you're being played somehow, like this is all a prank and they're secretly laughing at you. You don't really mind, you guess. Even if it's just some trick—a really confusing one—at least you get to feel their fingers on your fur as they fiddle with your ears.

"What is that?" you ask, eyeing the slim paperback they're holding.

" _Kitchen,_ " Chara says, turning the book around so that you can see the cover. A person in a white dress smiles at you. "By Banana Yoshimoto."

"I've never heard of it."

"I found it while Frisk and I were at that bookstore the other day," they explain, and their grin changes, becoming almost nostalgic. "I remember reading it when I was little."

You frown. It's strange to think of Chara being happy about something from their life before. They always seem so _angry_ about everything. Yet the hand that strokes your fur is gentle, and their eyes are fond. 

"Ready?" Chara asks.

"Ready," you confirm, and they open the book.

"'The place I like best in this world is the kitchen.'" Chara reads. "'No matter where it is, no matter what kind, if it's a kitchen, if it's a place where they make food, it's fine with me.'"

Their voice isn't one that you'd have ever guessed would be well-suited to reading aloud. When they aren't angry, they tend to speak in monotone; dry, flat, and brittle. When they _are_ angry, their voice becomes sharp and shrill. But as Chara reads _Kitchen,_ their voice takes on a storytelling quality—a rich, smooth cadence that's almost hypnotizing. Gradually, you sink into a haze of comfort as Chara's voice drifts over you, the spell they're casting interrupted only by the quiet breaths they take in-between paragraphs.

Slowly, it becomes harder and harder to pay attention. You have their voice to think about, but also your head on their lap and their hands on your fur. You might have been able to handle any one of those factors on their own, but all three at once is proving almost overwhelming.

(Not that you're about to give them up.)

You don't know how long you lay there listening to Chara read. More than once you feel the urge to let your eyes fall shut so that you can fully bask in sound and sensation, but you don't want to fall asleep. If you do, then you might miss important details, like the curve of their jaw or how daintily their long white fingers turn the pages. 

"'I held the feeling in my heart; the urge to discuss it died out,'" Chara reads. "There was all the time in the world. In the endless repetition of other nights, other mornings, this moment, too, might become a dream.'"

A pause.

"Are you asleep?" they ask.

"No," you say. "Your voice is pretty."

Chara snaps the book shut and gently bops you on the snout. "Don't be a suck up," they command.

"But it's true."

"I'm not reading so that you can admire my voice," they say coldly, the faintest hint of a blush colouring their cheeks. They look so nice in red. And, fair enough. But—

"Why _are_ you reading to me?" you ask.

Chara doesn't answer. Instead, they lean forward, placing their face directly above your own. Their eyes are beautiful. The colour of cherries, maybe. Whatever shade of red they are, they make you think of something sweet.

"I'm going to tell you something very personal about myself," they say. "You have to promise never to use it against me. All right?"

"I promise."

Another pause. Once again, Chara places their hand upon your forehead, fingers tracing shapes and spirals into your fur.

"This was the last book I read before I...ran away," they say. "I didn't want to go home one day, so I went to the library instead."

 _To hide_ goes unsaid.

"I just grabbed it from the shelf. I didn't know what it was about. Anything would have been fine. I didn't want to have to think. But I wound up reading it three times in a row."

You think of Chara back when you'd first found them, small and delicate and splintered, even if they didn't like you saying so. You think of Chara sitting all alone in the corner of a giant library, heart pounding when they saw the clock and realized they would have to leave soon. Not for the first time, you wish you could go back. If you could, you'd scoop them up into your arms and carry them off somewhere far, far away, somewhere where they'd never be hurt again, and everything would end happily ever after. You've always loved stories about heroes.

(Years beyond counting ago, you told a different story. It was a story that only sounded like their name, _Chara Chara Chara Chara,_ endlessly repeated, as though that alone could bring them back and make them stay. You definitely had not been a hero then. Your story definitely would not have ended happily. You hope that you have changed. You worry sometimes that you haven't.)

"Do you ever not want to come home now?" you ask. You can't imagine what you'll do if they say yes.

"Of course not," Chara replies. Dismissively, as though the question is ridiculous. "I barely even leave the house. How could I not come home?"

"That's not—" you begin, but Chara cuts you off with a hand placed gently over your mouth.

"I know," they say. "I don't."

You can breathe again.

"Anyway. I'm glad I picked this one," Chara says. Their hand glides along your fur to the very top of your head, caressing your newly-budding horns. You repress a shiver. "I loved it. It might even be my favourite. And these days, it reminds me of us."

"It does?" you ask, surprised that Chara thinks of you as an _us._ Then again, maybe you shouldn't be. 

They open the book to somewhere in the middle. It falls open easily. You wonder how many times they've turned to this page already.

"'Even though we're standing side by side, even though we're closer to each other than to anyone else in the world, even though we're friends forever, we don't join hands,'" Chara reads. Once again they're speaking in that strong, smooth timbre that had been so unexpected when they'd first begun. "'No matter how forlorn we are, we each insist on standing on our own two feet. But I wonder, as I look at his uneasy profile blazingly illuminated by the hellish fire, although we have always acted like brother and sister, aren't we really man and woman in the primordial sense, and don't we think of each other that way?'"

Chara's pauses. Their grin when they loom over you this time is enormous, almost splitting their face in two.

Your face grows hot. 

"Uh," you say.

They smile at you for a moment longer, just long enough for it to be uncomfortable, before casually adding, "There's more, you know."

"There is?"

They glance back down at the page, reading, "'But the place we are in now is just too dreadful. It is not a place where two people can create a life together.'"

You can't speak. Your face is still warm, yet you've gone cold all over.

Once again they close the book. 

"That's like you and me," Chara says. "Two people, closer than close, both fucked up beyond belief."

 _In the primordial sense,_ you think. _But the place we are in now is just too dreadful._ What does any of that mean? Are they trying to tell you something? Have you misunderstood them yet again?

"Do you..." you begin, but you can't finish your question. You can't even finish your thought. For the second time that day, you're afraid of what the answer will be.

Instead you ask, "How does the rest go?"

This time, Chara doesn't even need to look down at their book.

"'I see two lovers looking over the edge of the cauldron of hell,'" they recite. Their jewel-like eyes never once leave your own. "'Are they contemplating a double suicide? This means their love will end in hell. I couldn't stop laughing.'"

A beat. A new line.

"'I was certainly no fortune-teller.'"

Fingers brushing against the base of your horns.

"That part is me," Chara says. "I've never been very good at guessing how things will end. Right, Asriel?"

They're looking at you with such a tender expression that you feel your fears gradually beginning to subside, even though you're still confused. 

If it's their favourite book, then you need to know everything about it. You ask, "Can you keep going?"

Chara's eyes light up, and you know that you've said the right thing.

That is how the afternoon passes. Chara reads to you a tale of love and loss and kitchens, and you listen to them in silence, mesmerized by the sound of their voice and the feel of their hands and the shape of their mouth.

As they read, you begin to think.

Maybe you can't go back in time and save them from ever being hurt. Still, you can move forward. The past can drown a person, but you've always been pretty good at freeing them from the worst of their memories. And when the same thing happens to you, and you find yourself suffocating in your guilt, then maybe you can trust them to do the same. 

The two of you had been in a dreadful place before, but together, maybe you can go somewhere different.

The story ends and Chara shuts the book one final time.

"Will you read to me again sometime?" you ask. 

" _You're_ the one who was complaining that we usually do it the other way around," Chara points out with a smirk.

"I know," you reply, suddenly feeling a little flustered. "But I...I didn't realize how nice it was. I liked it at lot. So..."

Your voice trails off. Chara raises their eyebrows. "Just so long as you don't stop reading to me," they concede. 

You pull yourself back upright and Chara gives a little sigh of disappointment. "I liked having you on my lap," they say, and though you aren't facing them, you can hear them pouting. Once again, your cheeks grow hot.

"Next time," you promise. It's a silly promise, one you don't know that you'll keep, but the words come tumbling out before you can stop yourself.

You stand. Chara does as well. Before you can leave, they grab your arm, tugging you around to face them.

They lift their hand to your face, ghosting their fingers down your cheek and murmuring, "For the record, I think the place we're in now is wonderful."

You don't think you've ever seen them look more serious and simultaneously playful in the entire time you've known them. 

"I think it's almost definitely a place where two people can create a life together."

You can't think of anything to say, but a statement like that demands an answer, and so you nod. It's feeble, as far as answers to possible confessions go, but Chara looks satisfied.

For a single, fleeting moment, you think they're about to kiss you.

But they don't. They only smile, and then they walk away, book in hand.

Chara being the one to read aloud may have been a change in your routine, but in the end, you think you kind of liked it.

You're already looking forward to next time.


End file.
